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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26678941">Mundane</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi'>jencsi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>CSI: Crime Scene Investigation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:27:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,604</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26678941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For the weary among us, myself included.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julie "Finn" Finlay/Nick Stokes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mundane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He sits in his car, phone in his hand, toggling between apps, not really sure what he wants to do while he waits. He doesn’t see her approach the car and he doesn’t look up from his phone until he hears the car door shut. </p><p>     “Hi,” she says breathlessly as she slides into the passenger seat, her curly hair moving wildly with her. </p><p>        “Hey,” he greets her, meeting her like usual as she leans over the console to kiss him. </p><p>      “Ready to go?” she asks when they separate. </p><p>      “Yeah,” he says reluctantly, putting his phone in his pocket “your place or mine?” </p><p>       “Mine remember?” she pouts when she thinks he didn’t “we’re going to make that chicken stuff for dinner and watch the game.” </p><p>       “Right,” he says, trying to gather his thoughts and get his focus back. It’s been slipping from him all day and he couldn’t grasp a reason why. </p><p>        He starts the car and robotically drives the familiar route to her condo. She’s chatting about the recipe, scrolling through pictures of what the finished meal should look like, boasting about being one of those couples who cooks together and makes it fun. All the while, her voice fades in and out of his subconscious. She’s not as clear to him as he wants her to be and he hates himself for being so distracted. </p><p>        The shift was easy, routine, a day shift call for both of them was lucky. Now they had the rest of the evening and night. But something felt off. He couldn’t shake the negative cloud hanging over him. Every second spent in her vibrant presence was making him feel guilty for feeling this way. </p><p>        “It’s going to be great,” she concludes her chat as they come to a stop in her condo parking garage. </p><p>        When they exit the car, she swings her bag over her shoulder and has her keys to her unit in one hand. With her free hand, she reaches down and takes a hold of his, lacing their fingers together. They feel safe to share affections here in this dark space where no one from work is likely to see them. Still, her hand feels different in his. The cracked skin of his palms and knuckles from working make his hands rough constantly and he can’t shake the self conscious thought that she doesn’t really want to be holding his hand. But she does it anyway, and he’s taken by that. </p><p>     She only lets go when they reach her front door and she has to unlock it. Inside, she dumps her bag on a chair and kicks off her shoes, sweeping them against a wall casually. She shrugs off her leather jacket and hangs it with care on a row of hooks along another wall. He robotically mimics her, taking off his shoes and coat. She turns the TV on to pregame panels and starts rummaging in the kitchen for pots and pans. </p><p>      “I defrosted the chicken overnight and the cheese mixture is in the fridge too,” she informs him. </p><p>     She clutched a series of index cards in her hands, shuffling them and reading over the recipe. </p><p>      “We cook the chicken, and the noodles separate and then mix them together with the sauce to simmer for twenty minutes or until thick,” she reads “seems easy enough huh?” </p><p>     She looks at him, waiting for the social construct of his expected reply. </p><p>     “Oh yeah definitely,” is all he can give her as she dictates tasks to him. </p><p>     Cutting up the chicken into thin slices is methodical and allows him to disappear into his mind. Being present with her is difficult right now but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too happy, too bright, so lucky she doesn’t have what he has. </p><p>     As she tends to the pasta, she hums a tune he can’t identify. For claiming she can’t cook, she seems to move about the kitchen with ease and a natural movement that he can’t look away from. </p><p>       Sooner than he anticipated, all the ingredients are simmering together in one large pan. </p><p>    “Okay twenty minutes then we check the temp and then we can eat,” she announces, clapping her hands together proudly “what should we do until then?” </p><p>     “Tables set,” he murmurs “we got wine and a salad, not much else I guess” </p><p>      She watches him rub his hand over his head standing seemingly lost in the middle of her kitchen. She tilts her head to the side and bites the inside of her cheek, taking in his uncomfortable stance. She lifts herself up on the counter now, far enough away from the stove where the food is cooking and says “We could make dessert” </p><p>     “What did you have in mind?” he asks, stepping closer to her, picking up on what she’s trying to do. </p><p>     He stands right in front of her now, hands coming to rest on the counter on each side of her. Automatically her arms raise up and wrap around his shoulders. She tilts her head from side to side, pretending to think before she answers playfully “You” </p><p>      She leans forward to kiss him but he stops her and she whines in protest. </p><p>        “You’ll spoil your dinner,” he teases. </p><p>“Says you,” she pouts, pushing her forehead against his. </p><p>    “I guess one bite can’t hurt,” he says, nuzzling into her neck and peppering kisses there. Her giggles erupt in this tiny kitchen space and she can’t hide her adorable shriek and squeal of surprise and delight when he playfully bites her neck. </p><p>     She lifts him higher now, out of his dangerous negative headspace. Every smile and giggle does wonders for his soul. Every flirty moment like this reminds him of how lucky he is to not only be here, alive, but to have the absolute best luck in the world to have ended up with her. What did she see in him? He often wondered. Why did she find his company enjoyable? Was he being honest with her about who he really was? Did she just not care? </p><p>        Her giggles continue to echo in his ear as she squirms in his embrace on the counter. He keeps her locked in with his arms around her back, hands slipping under her shirt, wandering over her soft skin. When his fingers come around and brush under her rib cage, she squeaks and begs him through giggles “Don’t”, not quite ready for a tickle fight just yet. </p><p>      “Later,” she reminds him, grabbing a hold of his hand, and he makes a mental note to explore this spot in depth, hopefully sooner rather than later like she proposed. He can’t wait for dinner to be done now. </p><p>        “I think it turned out okay,” she marvels of the finished meal on their plates. </p><p>          “Very cheesy,” he adds his sentiment stirring the sauce on his plate. </p><p>           Like promised, they eat and watch the game, clean up and get ready for bed. He kept some clothes and items here just like she kept some of her things at his place so they could bounce back and forth between locations with ease. When he joins her in her bedroom after changing into sweats and a T-shirt, he sees that she’s already wiggled herself in the bed and nestled under the covers happily. </p><p>       He makes an exhausted grunt as he slides under the covers with her. She has the TV on in here now, tuned into some random sport cast recapping all of today’s games. She rolls over to lay on her side and face him, fingers fumbling with the hem of her blanket. </p><p>       “Are you okay?” she asks in a quiet tone. </p><p>           “Fine,” he lies immediately. </p><p>“Are you sure?” she presses him “you seemed distracted all day, did I do something wrong? Did I push you to make dinner and you didn’t want to?” </p><p>       He tears his eyes away from the TV to look at her and he realizes he’s been hurting her with his silent depression. Trying to make up for it, he slides his arms around her body and pulls her to be closer to him.</p><p>       “I love being here with you,” he assures her “today was just, well I don’t know how to explain it.” </p><p>      “Did you have a bad case?” she asks, continuing to fidget with the blankets in her grasp. </p><p>        “No that’s the thing,” he says running his hand through his hair again, “the case was fine, the day was fine, everything we did was fine, but something just felt off, you know, just blah, mundane, do you ever get that?” </p><p>        “Sometimes,” she admits, touching the back of her hand to his cheek, caressing it gently, “but now that we’re together, my life is less mundane, sometimes a day is just a day you know?” We want it to be more exciting or fulfilling but most of the time, it just ends.” </p><p>      She gets it. Perhaps better than he expected. And now he feels like a fool for ever thinking she wouldn’t understand. Her tender touch right now and complete compassionate rational thoughts are doing wonders for his aching soul. </p><p>       “Do you want to go home?” she asks him now, worried that she pushed him too far today. </p><p>      He looks at her, sees the worry in her expression and the fear rising in her voice. He kicks himself for ever making her feel this way. He needed to stop being his own worst enemy and just allow her to love him like she so clearly wants to. </p><p>      He smooths her hair back in one slow seeping motion, pressing a kiss to her forehead and whispering “I already am.”</p>
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